The Artist
by RonWeasleysGirl
Summary: Misunderstandings between the boys. Will they make it? HP/RW SLASH


Title: The Artist  
  
Author: RonWeaslysGirl  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Archives: Wherever, whenever...of course, just tell me where  
  
Disclaimers: JKR owns them, don't sue!  
  
Warning: Potter-Slash! Yeeees, Harry and Ron are going to be more than friends.  
  
  
  
THE ARTIST by ronweaslysgirl  
  
It was around Christmas again.  
  
Hogwarts was deserted. As usual almost all of the students had gone home to their parents.  
  
But some had stayed, among them Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.  
  
This year, Harry had been looking forward for the Christmas holidays with mixed feelings.  
  
On the one hand it was wonderful to be alone with Ron. To have him twenty four seven with no disturbances from anyone. To be able to sit with him in the dorm, talking the whole night long on his or Ron's bed, sometimes, when it was cold outside, even snuggled under the same blankets.  
  
But on the other hand, this closeness drove him insane.  
  
It was hard enough to keep cool when there were lessons, homework, Quidditch or other students helping him to distract his thoughts.  
  
It was hard enough to not focus his whole world on one person -on Ron who he desired so much it hurt.  
  
But every year during the holiday he had nearly had lost his mind.  
  
Every day, looking into Ron's fairytale eyes: their bright colour competing with the perfect cobalt winter sky, their depth engulfing Harry unmercifully, their look so soulful, waiting for the world to show him its miracles. The nights were even worse, when they were sitting on his or Ron's bed, warmed by a cup of hot chocolate, in the dim light of their wands and talking about life with all its fear and pain, but also all their innermost hopes and wishes.  
  
Nearly all of them.  
  
Harry always tried to avoid the subject of „love" but almost every time Ron mentioned it.  
  
„Have you ever been in love, Harry?", Ron had asked him the last time. „I mean, really in love. Not these childish crushes on girls, you know?"  
  
Harry knew.  
  
He had admired Cho Chang for some time. She was a pretty girl, no doubt about that, and in addition a more mature and warm-hearted person than the other giggling young women he knew – but what he felt about his friend was a complete different thing.  
  
What he felt was kind of solemn but robbed him his senses, it was so pure but so confusing, so deep but so fragile, so innocent but all the same so erotic.  
  
In his fantasies about making love to the handsome redhead, he felt sometimes unworthy to touch his delicate body, but all the same felt the need to make him beg for more, to make Ron go wild because of him.  
  
Ron stirred his heart,his soul, but also his most animal instincts.  
  
He had sometimes imagined making love to a girl, of course.  
  
A normal fantasy of a boy who was becoming a man. He had imagined a naked Cho, Ginny or even Hermione before him.  
  
Yes, it had been an arousing thought. But not in the slightest could it measure with the sensations that shook his body when he dreamed of a naked Ron in his arms, panting and sighing sweet words of love and arousal.  
  
But he certainly would not tell him.  
  
So he only would shrug, anytime Ron was talking about love.  
  
When they both were supposed to sleep at night, Harry often could not drift away to slumber. He was wide awake, listening to Ron's regular breathing.  
  
Sometimes he got up and watched him.  
  
So it was this time.  
  
Harry had been asleep for a couple of hours, after they had been talking till late after midnight again, but then had woken up.  
  
Everything was quiet as usual, the only sound was Ron' s breathing, sleeping peacefully.  
  
Harry sighed.  
  
Why did Ron's presence make him so nervous?  
  
He was just sleeping, for God's sake. But the knowledge that they were alone in the dorm and Ron was lying there in the bed next to his, looking like an innocent angel, but also like the incarnation of seduction drove him crazy and refused him his nighttime peace.  
  
Harry glanced at his watch.  
  
Five o' clock in the morning. The sun had not risen yet. He was sure he would not fall asleep. So he got up.  
  
He couldn't resist standing still a few moments and watch Ron.  
  
His face so relaxed, free of all worries. Harry felt his heart throb and his knees go weak. Then he forced himself to take his eyes off the beautiful boy and walked out of the room.  
  
When he came back some time later, his thoughts had cooled down a bit.  
  
After a walk in the icy cold morning he was sure he could bear hot Ron for some time now before going insane again.  
  
When he entered the dorm, Ron was sitting on the edge of his bed a piece of paper on his knees.  
  
He was drawing, like he had been doing often during the last months. He really was gifted, but had not shown his pictures to anyone but Harry. During their night talks Ron had once admitted he was afraid that people would make fun of the very emotional images he was drawing.  
  
Once again Harry was touched to the core when he saw Ron's work.  
  
„Have you seen the sunrise?", Ron asked without looking up. „It is breathtaking. I saw the sun rising above the frozen lake, snowflakes everywhere, everything sparkling and glistening."  
  
Ron laughed, a bit embarassed.  
  
„It's damn kitschy, isn't it?", he asked Harry, now looking at him, trying to figure out Harry's opinion.  
  
„Don't apologise for being able to draw something like THIS, Ron. It's incredible."  
  
Ron still was not convinced.  
  
„Yeah, but I mean, isn't it silly being so sentimental? Drawing sunrises and sunsets, rainbows and unicorns? All that's missing are beaches and palms!"Ron said disdainfully.  
  
„You're just drawing what you experience as beautiful. You should be glad that you're able to feel things that intensely. Most people don't let themselves, because they are afraid.", he tried to encourage Ron.  
  
„Me included", he added silently, thinking of his secret love for the talented artist.  
  
„I wish I was as gifted in something as you are!" he tried again when he saw the doubts on Ron's face.  
  
„Hey, you are kidding! Who is the hero here? The saviour of the world?", Ron said, because it was true somehow and because he wanted to tease Harry a bit. He knew Harry's reactions to his fame.  
  
„C'mon Ron, leave my stupid scar out of this!" Harry rolled his eyes.  
  
„At least, the Quidditch hero.", Ron insisted.  
  
„Everyone could learn with a bit of practice! You are not as untalented as you pretend to be. You just need a good broom!"  
  
Ron raised an eyebrow, looking not too convinced.  
  
Then, suddenly an idea lit up Harry's face. „C'mon Ron, get dressed! I'll prove it to you!"  
  
Fifteen minutes later they were outside on the Quidditch pitch.  
  
It was snowing, but not too bad.  
  
Ron held Harry's firebolt reverentially. He was glad that they were alone, because he was sure he was going to make a fool of himself.  
  
Harry suddenly had been dead set on proving Ron was able to fly the broom as deftly as he was when he just let him show some hints.  
  
And indeed, Harry hated it that Ron always felt small compared to him just because he was poor while Harry was rich, just because Harry was the Seeker for Gryffindor while he wasn't on the team at all, just because of all the admiration he received – or better his scar received.  
  
Ron climbed the broom and flew some wide circles around the Quidditch field. He was not bad at it, but didn't dare the risky manoeuvres that Harry tended to fly.  
  
Harry in the meantime surveyed Ron thoroughly and noticed some little mistakes in his actions and his posture on the broom.  
  
He gestured wildly and screamed: „Ron, come on over!"  
  
Ron slowed down and flew his way back to Harry, hovering next to him.  
  
„Your hands. When you lean forward you are more aerodynamic. Just put your hands like that..."  
  
Harry was in his element, his beloved Quidditch which had always made him feel free and had let him get rid of all worrying thoughts.  
  
Ron shifted his body and re-placed his hands on the broom-stick.  
  
„No, no, not like that!", Harry corrected him and without thinking moved closer to put one hand firmly on Ron's thigh, the other on Ron's hands and tried to shift them. The contact was electrifying and brought back with a shock the realization of who he was touching.  
  
„Oh my god, get a grip, boy.", he told himself. „Finish what you started."  
  
„Look, Ron, you have to put your hands...like that."  
  
Ron's hands were so beautiful, with long, slender fingers. What would it feel like when these fingers...Harry forced himself to not finish the thought.  
  
„And when you lean forward...like this..."  
  
He placed one hand on Ron's back, the other on Ron's chest. Even through all those winter clothes Ron felt so good.  
  
„Is it correct like this?", Ron asked, clinging to the broom.  
  
„Perfect.", Harry answered and took away the hands which had steadied Ron.  
  
Now on his own in this new posture Ron lost his sense of balance and fell off the broom, into Harry and took him with him.  
  
Laughing, he landed on his friend.  
  
„I told you, I am not really gifted in Quidditch."  
  
Harry tried to smile,which was hardly impossible with a sexy Ron Weasley on top of him, even with all the layers of fabric between them, his face so close Harry just only would have to move his head a little to place a kiss on his friend's front or cheek.  
  
Ron must have noticed the pained expression on the black-haired boy's face, because his face was suddenly serious, too, and he stopped laughing.  
  
He looked him in the eye for a few seconds, obviously trying to find out what troubled Harry. But he did not move away.  
  
All too clearly, Harry felt all the places of their bodies where they were in touch.  
  
When he already dared to hope it was more than chance that Ron was still lying on top of him, returning his gaze in such an intense manner, the redhead rose, his movements stiff, his whole body language proving the discomfort he felt  
  
„Yeah, I'll go inside, then..."  
  
Ron gestured vaguely towards the Hogwarts building.  
  
Before Harry could say something, Ron had walked away.  
  
Harry still sat on the ground a few seconds, considered rushing behind him, but he felt like he was frozen.  
  
Then he burst into tears.  
  
He knew what had caused Ron to leave him so suddenly.  
  
At the same moment when Ron had bumped into him...  
  
Harry could have known that Ron knew him too well to not be able to read his desire in one glance.  
  
When Ron knew that Harry couldn't see him anymore he started to run.  
  
The only thing he wished was to be as far away from Harry as possible.  
  
So far away that he would not be forced to see again what he had just seen.  
  
The questions in his friend's eyes, which he had silently asked:  
  
„Why don't you move away? Why do you lie here on your best friend's body like you have been waiting for this moment for years? Why do your eyes flicker with desire?"  
  
Ron was sure this all had been clearly visible.  
  
Poor Harry!  
  
He hadn't hidden his uneasiness very well.  
  
And he, Ron, sensitive like a baby elephant, had just been unable to stir, just felt the closeness with both horror and relish. And the whole time, a little wicked voice inside of him had asked, what this position would be like if they were both naked.  
  
For one sweet second he thought he had seen his own burning longing mirrored in Harry's eyes.  
  
But the next moment he realised how Harry had shut down his face completely before him and that his mind was just playing tricks on him.  
  
Then he just ran away.  
  
And he kept on running till he was inside the dorm.  
  
Now also crying, he threw himself on the bed and sobbed till the pillow was wet and he was sure he had cried all the tears he had ever owned.  
  
Only then did the realisation of the consequences of what had happened hit him.  
  
Was Harry ever going to speak with him?  
  
Maybe he felt disgusted or at least frightened.  
  
Would he think that he had had ulterior motives all the time when they had hugged or had given each other comfort from nightmares by snuggling together till the other's fear subsided?  
  
And even if Harry was as tactful as always, as sensitive as usual, it would never be as beautiful as it had been before.  
  
A distance would come between them.  
  
He would lose his friend - one way or another.  
  
When Ron had left him, Harry slowly had risen and taken his Firebolt.  
  
Everything suddenly felt so surreal and he suddenly felt so incomplete without Ron's body in touch with his.  
  
A nagging pain in his chest drove him crazy, but he pulled together.  
  
„Don't think, don't think, don't think...", he whispered like a prayer to keep him sane.  
  
He didn't know what he was going to do when the full realization would hit him.  
  
But the pain was too strong.  
  
A picture of a Ron who watched him like he was a stranger came into his mind and he freaked out.  
  
He screamed his pain to the sky and with the need to destroy something flung his broom to the frozen ground which broke in the middle immediately. He watched the wooden pieces, trembling with desperation.  
  
„You really ARE gorgeous, Harry Potter. Always supposed to break what you love.", he whispered.  
  
Then he took the broken broom and stumbled his way back, again blind from tears.  
  
Inside, the first person he caught sight of, was....Ron.  
  
He was sitting there, playing chess with Hermione.  
  
Harry quickly wiped his tears away. Ron was not supposed to notice his state.  
  
Harry wanted to leave the room before the two of them would see him, but suddenly he heard someone call his name.  
  
„Harry?"  
  
It was Colin.  
  
Ron had at once looked up and met his gaze for half a second, but when he found Harry returning the gaze bowed down again immediately and pretended to concentrate.  
  
„What is is, Colin?"  
  
Harry had not meant to be that impolite but the coldness that was radiating from his adored Ron hurt him too badly to be able to control his actions.  
  
Colin pulled a face.  
  
„I wanted to ask you if you perhaps could help me with my homework. But I can ask someone else if you..." „No, it's alright, Colin, I'll help you.", Harry hurried to promise.  
  
But the furtive glances Ron throw Harry every time he supposed Harry would not notice stang like little stabs from a knife.  
  
„God, he looks as if he's really afraid me."  
  
He felt anger grow to accompany his desperation.  
  
„Does he think I'm going to rape him?", he furiously asked himself.  
  
Colin had noticed the angry look on Harry's face and let his gaze curiously wander from Harry to Ron.  
  
„Now, do you want me to help you or not?", Harry asked impatiently.  
  
Colin nodded.  
  
„Let's go to the library, then.", Harry added.  
  
When they left the room, he felt Ron's eyes in his back.  
  
For the rest of the day they successfully avoided meeting each other.  
  
It tore Ron apart.  
  
But what horrified him even more was the night.  
  
Would Harry sleep with him in the dorm at all? Alone with him?  
  
Ron rather doubted it.  
  
Sighing, he opened a drawer of his night stand and took some pictures.  
  
A tiny smile lit his face up a little.  
  
Then with a far-away expression he took a pencil and began to draw another picture.  
  
He drew with an intensity which would have charmed any secret onlooker.  
  
It was as if he brought all his emotions on the piece of paper which came to life under the caresses of the pencils.  
  
Then suddenly he heard the sound of the door and the next moment Harry stood in the room.  
  
Ron hastily hid the pictures under his blankets and looked up to meet Harry's eyes.  
  
„Ron, we need to talk.", Harry said, surprisingly calm.  
  
For Ron this calmness was even harder to bear than real rejection.  
  
No, he didn't want Harry to speak to him that reservedly.  
  
He would rather argue or fight with him than that.  
  
„I am surprised that you came here. I didn't think you would want to spend the night here." Ron said, trying to hide his pain under a mask of aggression.  
  
Harry closed his eyes.  
  
This was worse than he had expected.  
  
God, it hurt.  
  
Ron even refused to share the room with him at night. But this was not fair. He never would have guessed Ron would be that narrow-minded.  
  
„No, Ron!", he said with simmering anger. „I won't leave. If someone is sick here, then it is you!"  
  
He trembled with excitement, pushed Ron aside to take his bed clothes and threw them in the direction of the door.  
  
„If someone's supposed to leave, it's you!"  
  
Ron had bowed down to lift up the pictures which had fallen down to the ground when Harry had grabbed the blankets, but Harry had been quicker.  
  
He picked up the pictures and screamed:  
  
„And take your fucking pictures...".  
  
He fell silent when he took a look at them.  
  
„No, give me the pictures! Give me the pictures! Oh, I hate you!", Ron shouted, his voice full of panic. He tried to get them back, but Harry had already seen everything.  
  
Harry heart started to beat faster. He stared at the pictures with disbelief.  
  
The first: himself, lying on his bed, naked, aroused and looking at something, which was not on the picture.  
  
Or rather, at someone?  
  
The second: He and Ron, kissing like there was no tomorrow.  
  
Their tongues entangled, Ron's hands holding his face, gently but clearly refusing to let him go.  
  
And the third: He and Ron, drowned in the sensations of love-making, finally united, Ron over him, inside of him...  
  
Harry felt his knees go weak. Only when Ron ripped away the pictures, did he come to reality.  
  
Ron's eyes were cold when he met them.  
  
„Come on, why don't you make fun of me? I can stand it. You cannot hurt me anymore after what you already have said.", he lied.  
  
„I know, I am sick. You just said it."  
  
But then the hatred in his voice died.  
  
And with his voice his will broke, too.  
  
„God, Harry, what has happened to you? I knew you wouldn't love me back. But why do you hate me?", he sobbed, gesturing towards the blankets which lay at the door.  
  
Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle fell in place and Harry understood.  
  
„God, no....Ron...it's not like that. It was all a big misunderstanding."  
  
„Misunderstanding? I heard you loud and clear! And I saw...", he again pointed towards the bed clothes.  
  
Harry sought words, but decided to cut it short.  
  
„It's not like that, Ron." The desperation in his voice made Ron look up.  
  
„I love you, Ron."  
  
„What?", Ron whispered with disbelief.  
  
Then he, too, understood.  
  
„Oh my god and I really thought..."  
  
They looked each other in the eye, both did not stir.  
  
Finally Harry breathed: „May I...may I hold you?"  
  
Ron's voice refused to answer, so he just nodded and waited for Harry to make the first move.  
  
Then Harry stepped towards him and pulled him close with a deep sigh.  
  
They stood there for what seemed like an eternity. It felt like coming home.  
  
„Have you ever kissed someone?", Harry finally asked softly.  
  
Ron shook his head.  
  
„And you?"  
  
Harry shook his head, too.  
  
„I'm kinda nervous.", the red-haired boy admitted.  
  
„So am I", said Harry.  
  
They both giggled a bit.  
  
Harry was the first to become serious again and looked into Ron's eyes again, which were filled with anticipation. Then he felt Ron lean in and the next moment his lips on his.  
  
It was like a drug. Once he had felt Ron's full hot lips he was addicted.  
  
Soon Ron gently demanded access. He let him enter and their tongues met. It was incredible, sweet and soft and arousing.  
  
  
  
The bed made a low sound when they fell on it.  
  
  
  
THE END 


End file.
